"…as the runaway wife was washing the battalion's clothes by the river, a barrel made its way downstream. The barrel was hauled out of the water and opened to see what goods had been lost by some unfortunate travelers. She let out a startled yelp when she realized the soldier she's been searching for was tied up naked inside the barrel with a bunch of Red Snappers, a note nailed into his chest. It read 'Nancy's snapper smells worse than you do.'"
By the end, Cuthbert still wasn't satisfied with the punch line. Sir Christian had told this story too many times for him to ever find it funny again.
Although Sir Christian had changed it here and there to make it grander, tonight was the first time Cuthbert truly understood all the effort he put into his stories.
'If being a Lord didn't work out, my brother could become a very talented bard in any kingdom.' Something Elfeda would always say when defending her brother.
Cuthbert sat quietly, offering no response to the tale.
"I don't get it. This story always kills with the men down in camp. Even ol' Haart the Fart found it enjoyable, to some degree."
"The men at camp would laugh at whatever story you tell them. There is nothing those men would deny you, with the devotion they have for you."
Cuthbert didn't notice himself speaking as his mind recreated old memories.
Sir Christian nodded in agreement.
Those men would gladly die for him if the situation ever called for it.
'May it never call for it' Christian gave a silent prayer at the thought.
Not that he wouldn't do the same for any of his men either.
"So what? Showing up in a barrel full of snappers wasn't a good enough ending for you?" Sir Christian asked as he took a few more bites of his dinner.
"No man in his right mind would still love a woman who smelled like a barrel of snappers." Cuthbert, barely aware of the conversation, sank deeper into the memory of Elfeda's perfume– the faint, floral scent always preceded her surprise visits.
"Even a former fishmonger?"
"Especially the former fishmonger," Cuthbert said dismissively as his mind re-lived those surprise visits.
They both shared a brief moment of silence before looking at each other. Sir Christian burst out into laughter at the absurd dissection of the tale. And Cuthbert could hear her laughter as her brother's.
'So genuine. Full of life.'
He forced back tears, tears that rejoiced in hearing her laugh again.
"It's good to have someone who can still critique my finest work," Sir Christian said as he cut up the last bit of his meal. "I was starting to think my skills would be wasted by my 'devoted' soldiers." He took a bite of his meal after a grand gesture with his utensils.
Cuthbert watched him cut another piece of what he assumed was harpy meat. Sir Christian's noble figure looked absurd in the cell. But his etiquette was unchanged—just like when Cuthbert once dined with him and Elfeda. Memories of her smile flickered in and out of the shadows of the torchlight.
He could feel the palm of her hand rubbing his lap, as she always did to remind him to go easy on Christian. His stomach turned. The guilt swelled up inside him.
"How–", his utensils clanked against the plate as if to emphasize his point. Sir Christian, now more deliberate in his attention, casually waited for him to finish speaking
Cuthbert could no longer keep his composure
"How can you sit there like nothing happened? Like what I did is forgivable?"
Cuthbert's fists clenched, his body trembling.
"I DON'T DESERVE THIS! ESPECIALLY FROM YOU!"
He hurled his plate past the side of Sir Christian's head. Christian's posture never changed; he didn't even flinch as the plate shattered behind him, disappearing into the space where the void canvas swallowed light.
"I have no idea wh–", Sir Christian was cut off as Cuthbert lunged towards him, twisting his fingers in the fabric of Sir Christian collar, his breath ragged, his grip shaking. But Christian didn't move. Didn't fight. He just stared—unflinching, unwavering.
"What right do I have to live after what I've done?" his eyes fixed on his guest—a fire that didn't belong in such a broken man.
"Let them finish it. Give me what I deserve. DEATH!" The stench of despair clung to Cuthbert as heavily as his words. The floor trembled under Cuthbert's weight, silverware rattling like distant echoes of his rage.
Cuthbert's teeth unclenched as he stared into Christians familiar comforting gaze– a flicker of anger under wobbly eyes.
He whimpered at the sight.
Elfeda's hand still gently reminding him, as he grabbed her brother.
Christian's hands—disciplined, yet gentle—followed that same advice, even as he tossed Cuthbert aside.
"A little too melodramatic of you, don't you think?" His voice never portrayed any hint of that anger boiling in his eyes. Christian stood up and walked into the darkness searching for the shattered plate. He stumbled in the dark before finding the shattered remains and gathering them into the box he brought with him.
For the briefest moment, Christian's hand clenched around a shard of broken plate—knuckles white—before he let it go.
"A man who has sentenced himself to death for his own crimes should pay only what he owes."
He was particularly careful to grab every piece he could.
"He should not be subjugated to punishment that far exceeds his payment."
"He is still entitled to be treated as a person until that payment is met."
Sir Christian lifted his plate and ate with a hunger he hadn't shown before—as if the act itself was penance, not allowing himself a single moment to savor it.
A stark contrast to how he was eating just moments before. Hands grabbing the harpy meat as he tore the flesh cleanly off the bone with teeth. The rest of the dish slid into his mouth, guided by the bone he held. When he was finished, he gathered as much of the food that had been tossed across the room and placed it onto his empty plate.
He left the recovered meal by the self-condemned.
"No amount of punishment can ever be enough to atone for my sins."
Sir Christian was already walking to the door with his box in one hand and his torch in the other.
He glanced at the shackles on the floor for a moment. "Perhaps. But it may not be punishment that will atone you of your sins — but compassion for the living"
"Please… Christian. Leave me alone." Cuthbert whimpered in his corner. The man knew his verses as well as he wielded a blade.
"As you wish."
Sir Christian stepped outside and stared out at the full moon making its way over the distant hills.
Christian's lips trembled as he spoke, "She wasn't just important to you, Cuthbert." He stood silently for a moment–fighting back tears he didn't want his host to see.
"Make sure to finish your meal. Elfeda would be pretty upset if she knew you were wasting food like that." He calmly closed the door behind him.
Cuthbert stared at the door as the keys jingled beyond it. Then his gaze dropped to the plate by his side.
As the last sliver of light slipped through the cell door, he reached for it.
Darkness engulfed him again.
'Thank you for the meal.'